Satan Caliente
by xShadow0x
Summary: Sometimes fate works with you. Sometimes everything happens like you want it to. Sometimes you know what's going to happen next… And then sometimes life throws you the unexpected and laughs in your face. But is that really such a bad thing? One-shot.


**So this is a pezberry futurefic one-shot, just because it was an idea that got stuck in my brain and wouldn't go away until I got it out. :D I still love Brittana and Faberry, absolutely, I just wanted to shake it up a bit. This is canon through the end of season 3 (except for Santana's college), and may reference a couple things from season 4. Please read and review!**

"Thank you all! _Gracias a todos!_ Now go have fun with the rest of the night!"

Santana jogged off the stage and ripped the microphone away from her head, thrusting it at one of the techies that was hovering by the side of the stage.

"You did great out there, Lopez!" Her manager exclaimed while the singer walked down the ramp towards her dressing room. "Now go ahead and freshen up; you have to be at the after-party in 15."

Santana nodded, knowing perfectly well when the after-party would be. She always did. The Latina shut the door behind her as she entered her dressing room, slumping against the wooden support in exhaustion. This same exhaustion always hit her after a concert of such a huge length and size. She could still hear the chanting and screaming fans outside, clamoring for an encore that would never come. She let her head fall back onto the cool oak of the door, as it calmed her senses and helped her focus on the task at hand: changing and getting ready to face another crowd of people, this time in a contained environment.

She groaned and walked away from the door, running her fingers through her raven-black hair while trying to drum up some energy. A knock at the door caused Santana to pause in her pacing, and she turned in mild surprise.

"It's open," she called, not really wanting to cross the room again. The door flew open and Santana was hit with a ball of energy, which was talking about a mile-a-minute and clinging to Santana's midsection. The Latina extricated herself from the tight grip, and leaned back to examine her attacker, aka, Rachel Berry.

"Oh, hey Berry," She said, pulling the girl in for a quick hug before walking towards the two always-full coffee machines on a cart against the opposite wall.

"That was awesome! Did you see how your fans reacted! And did you hear how good you were! And did you-"

"You think it's that good every time," Santana interrupted with a smirk. She grabbed two black mugs with "LOPEZ" emblazoned on them and filled one from the machine on the right, labeled "Berry" as that's for whom it was there. She handed it to the other brunette, who smiled appreciatively. Santana continued speaking as she filled her own mug from the machine on the left. "After a while you get used to the noise and the fans and the rush of it all. I mean," She leaned back against the back edge of a chair near her and paused. "It's not like the thrill of performing really goes away; it's just that it sometimes gets overpowered and mixed up with the hullabaloo that people make about it."

"I can see how that would happen," Rachel said, nodding gravely. She suddenly giggled, catching Santana off-guard. "Hullabaloo is a weird word…"

The Latina shook her head and grinned.

"Thank goodness that's decaf," she said, pointing at the mug in Rachel's hand. The other girl responded by sticking her tongue out, and they both smiled at the childishness. "Hey, would you mind turning around for a sec? I have to change."

"Sure," Rachel responded. It was quite normal for her to do this if Santana was pressed for time after a concert. "So I might be 10 or 15 minutes late to the after-party. I have to change and get Finn before I can come back."

Santana barely contained a sigh, but still responded.

"Yeah, ok." She hopped around a bit, trying to maintain her balance as she attempted to pull off the skin-tight jeans from the performance. She finally succeeded, and stood up straight, smirking. "Although, who knows, I might die of crowd-claustrophobia in those first 15 minutes…"

Rachel scoffed. "You can't die of claustrophobia. And you'll be fine without me for a few minutes."

"Fine," The Latina said, sighing dramatically, "But if I _do_, then I bequeath to you my rhinestone-studded microphone; and I bequeath to that ape of a boyfriend you have… a punch in the face."

"_You have a rhinestone-studded microphone?_" Rachel squealed, obviously almost at hyperventilating point from what Santana could hear. The singer rolled her eyes and deadpanned.

"No."

"Oh…" the dejected brunette muttered, shoulders slumping.

After a few seconds, Santana turned around with a flourish.

"So, how do I look?"

The other brunette turned around as well, eyes raking up and down the Latina's slender frame.

"Very smexy," she conceded at long last. Both girls grinned, and Santana walked over to the mirror, checking her appearance in the red dress that hugged her body. "You know," Rachel added thoughtfully, "It reminds me of the dress you wore to prom. Remember?"

Santana smiled, as, yes, she _did_ remember. That was the night she had done one of the few things she was ever proud of herself for doing.

It was as if Rachel knew what she was thinking.

"I know that you and Quinn changed the vote, by the way."

The Latina spun around, eyes flying wide.

"You know _what?_"

"Oh come on, do you really think that I would believe that I had _that many_ write in votes from the students that hated me with a burning passion? The same ones that wrote in Kurt as junior prom queen out of pure malice?"

"But- uh- I-"

"It's fine," Rachel said, walking to Santana and circling her arms around the other girl's waist. "I've always been grateful to you two for it."

The taller girl relaxed and dropped a kiss on the top of Rachel's head. The both jumped when someone rapped sharply on the door.

"You ready, Santana?"

"_Oh shit_," the girl muttered under her breath, jumping away to pull on her other stiletto-heeled shoe as she hastily applied mascara with the other hand. "Yeah! I'll be out in a minute, Marco!" She called out to her manager.

"You better be!" The man said before his footsteps faded away.

"I gotta go, Rach," The singer said, hurriedly kissing her friend on the cheek and walking towards the door. "But I bests be seeing you in 15, right?"

"Totally," Rachel replied with a smile and a nod.

Santana walked out the door, barely closing it behind her before she was whisked away on the arm of her busybody manager.

"Okay, okay, I'm here now, whataya want with me?"

* * *

"Jack and Coke, please," Santana said to the bartender, taking a seat on one of the dark blue bar stools nearer to the shadows. "Thanks," she muttered as the glass of amber liquid was pushed toward her. She lifted it to her lips and took a sip, before setting it back down with a _thunk_ and absentmindedly fiddling with the straw that had come with it.

_Side, around, side, across, around, across, side, around…_

The singer realized that her movements of the straw among the floating ice cubes had adopted a pattern, and she sighed, resting her chin on her hand. It had barely been 5 minutes and she was already missing her usual companion.

Santana's thoughts drifted back to high school, when she couldn't stand Rachel Berry. It always brought her a small, sad smile and a shake of the head. She had thought it was _so important_ to be head Cheerio, or to sleep with the most guys, or to put other people down all the time. And now look at her – best friends with the girl she had despised through junior high and all the way until almost the end of senior year.

See, if Rachel had always stayed as annoyingly driven as she was in freshman year, and if Santana had never been honest with herself about what she felt and how she acted, the two would probably never have given each other more than a passing glare. But the Broadway-aspiring diva had mellowed out considerably by the end of college, and the Latina had become only a third of the bitch she used to be by the time she started her career.

Also, they were kind of tossed together in the course of life.

After they had become sort-of friends in senior year, the two kept in touch through the summer before college started. They made promises, as did all the Glee clubbers, to stay in contact in the future too, not expecting to really see each other ever again.

That is, until they ran into each other apartment-hunting in New York City.

Now, how _these two_ people found each other in a city of _8 million_, no one is really sure of. But it happened. So, to save on rent and to have a friendly face around, Santana Lopez and Rachel Berry became roommates for the next 5 years. Needless to say, they became considerably closer by living with each other for that long.

After Rachel graduated from NYADA, and Santana graduated from NYU, they both encountered their fair share of failures and successes. Rachel was not the automatic sensational hit on Broadway that she had expected; she had to bite and claw her way up to fame, and it didn't last for very long. Santana found out that writing, which she had majored in, was actually _not_ a very well paying career, however much she enjoyed it. But she did hit a stroke of luck when Rachel had succeeded in dragging her to an Open Mic Night in a dingy café off Lexington Avenue, where a talent agent from LA was scouting for fresh meat. He contacted her afterwards and offered her a chance to record in LA, saying that she had the juice to really make it as a singer. And, as it so happened, Rachel had chosen this very time to expand her view, planning on going to LA to try her luck as a recording artist.

And so the two moved to Los Angeles, California together.

So here they were, one year later: with Santana performing as _Satan Caliente_, and Rachel cranking out more albums on iTunes every few months. The walls of each girl's room was lined with memoirs. In Rachel's, it was tickets from every single concert Santana had ever performed – at which Rachel had always been, every single time. In Santana's room, it was tickets from every Broadway show Rachel had ever performed in – at which Santana had always been as well – and every album Rachel had ever released. The two girls were, quite honestly, inseparable. The only thorn that kept sticking in Santana's side was this recurring asshole named Finn Hudson.

Finn and Rachel had broken up at the end of senior year, as Finn tried to make a valiant sacrifice for the greater good…

That lasted all of two months.

Which was impressive in itself, as Santana didn't expect them to even last that long. They apparently "rekindled their lost love" after short, failed relationships on both parts, and had been together since then. By no means was their relationship smooth, given the numerous fights, mini-breakups, thrown objects, and stony silences there had been; but they had stayed together. To begin with, rather than trying for a long-distance relationship, Finn had moved to New York to be nearer to Rachel. He spent months looking for a good job, but ended up driving cabs to pay rent; which he seemed perfectly happy doing, surprisingly enough. Then, when Rachel and Santana moved to LA, Finn followed, switching to driving cabs in La-La-Land rather than The City of Dreams; it wasn't a very big career jump. At the moment, Finn and Rachel's relationship was on the rocks, as Finn became needier and Rachel started realizing how much of a jerk her boyfriend was. Sometimes it got like this, where they started to see how completely incompatible they were – but it didn't normally last for very long.

It really wouldn't have been a big deal to Santana if Finn wasn't such an idiot and if she herself wasn't so lonely.

Santana and Brittany had tried to keep going long-distance after the latter of the two failed senior year, but they split relatively amicably the first time Santana took a trip back to Lima from New York. They both knew it just wouldn't work out, and clinging to the notion that it would was just going to end up in major heartbreak. Santana found out later that Brittany had started dating Sam (much to everyone's surprise), and they had gotten married in Vegas the summer after high school ended. The two of them moved to Texas, and Brittany started a dance academy there with Mike Chang. When Santana hit the big time in LA, Brittany had choreographed a few routines for her, but they lost touch again after a few months. The two still hurt inside when they thought about each other, but life goes on, right?

Santana had tried to date for a while, but failed every time (the longest relationship lasting 5 months). After her big break, the singer basically gave up on finding her "soul mate." Sure, she would still flirt, but all the girls she was interested in just saw her as "the famous chick," and not for her personality.

She chuckled, downing the last dregs of her drink from the glass. Since when does Santana Lopez care about personalities? The girl, now a little more than slightly buzzed, pulled out her smartphone, tapping her Favorites contact list (on which there was only one name), and dialed the number for the 4th time that night.

"Berry, you get your ass over here! I mean what the hell, it's been, like, 20 fucking minutes, and _you said 15_. LIAR! You _lied_ to me! And now, I'm *hic* now I'm having to deal with all these _people_, who're talking 'bout random shit! It's such random-ass shit! Like awards and records and concerts and stuff! I swear, if you are not here, _pronto_, I am so going _all_ Lima Heights on your ass-" She got cut off by a beep, ending her voicemail message. Santana pulled her phone away from her ear, staring at it in slight confusion. "Fuck this shit…" she muttered, succeeding after the 3rd try to stick the device back in her purse.

Santana hopped down from the bar stool, feeling slightly dizzy, and turned to scour the crowd for someone to take her irritation out on. Suddenly, a breeze hit her side, and she turned to see the door open and two figures, one lumbering and one graceful, enter the dark room.

"Munchkin!" The Latina cried, pointing at Rachel.

"Satan!" The other girl cried in response, pointing back at Santana.

"You guys are weird!" Finn said, doing a half-assed jazz-hands move.

"Whatever, Hudson," Santana said, striding forward and grabbing Rachel in a bear hug. "I slapped you once; I'd do it again."

Finn responded by walking away, grumbling under his breath about needing a beer.

"I have no idea why you stick with him," Santana commented, pulling Rachel towards the bar. "It's not even like the sex is any good. Believe me, I would know."

"Lovely," The brunette replied drily. "But I really don't know. Finn's just been acting stranger and more immature lately, and it's really starting to get to me."

"Interesting," The singer deadpanned, trying not to sound too judgmental, "So what do you want to drink?"

"Just water," Rachel said hesitantly as her companion smiled and waved to the bartender, "I'm driving-"

"Two Bacardi fire shots," Santana said to the young guy behind the bar, "and start a tab." She turned to Rachel, who looked rather shocked. "We can hail a cab."

* * *

"_Whooooooooo!" _Santana heard someone yell – maybe… yeah, it was probably herself… This was her last musing before she stopped trying to think; it hurt her brain too much.

Santana smirked as the skin against her tongue vibrated in a tremulous moan. The Latina finished licking the salt off the neck in front of her, downed the tequila, and arched her neck forward to grab the lime wedge from the girl's teeth. She stood up straight again and held the lime up in the air triumphantly, to much cheering from the people in the circle around the two girls. Rachel sat up on the table where she had been lying down and grabbed for Santana's shoulder, instead catching hold of the other girl's neck. The two toppled over onto the table, giggling manically.

"HEY SANTANA!" Rachel shouted in the Latina's ear, despite the fact that they were practically on top of each other.

"WHAT!" She yelled back, equally as oblivious.

"Did you wanna know something?" The tiny brunette said, dropping her voice down to a whisper. "_You_, are rrealllly hot…" Her words slurred, and she burst into giggles again.

"Omagod," Santana said, her speech quality deteriorating just as fast, "So are _youuu!_ But, but now," She whimpered, trying to stand up straight and failing; "now you're going to leave me! Everyone always does! _Especially_, esp- uh… _'specially_ if they're hot! Brittany did, and- and Puck did, and that other girl I dated last year – what was her name? I can't rememba, oh wait I think it was M- yeah, _Maya_ did, and then now you are! It's not fair!" She burst into tears, but stopped after a second when Rachel tapped her on the cheek with the palm of her hand and pointed drunkenly at some point to the left of her nose.

"Naw, naw, I'm most definitely _not_ going to leave you…" The brunette pulled the Latina down again to kiss her sloppily on the cheek. "But _Finn_ on the other hand, he's been acting like such a, such a jerk, you know? Like, I'll be talking to him, and then he'll just turn into a total _ass_, you know? You get what I'm sayin', San?"

Santana nodded in a faux-grave manner, running a finger distractedly along Rachel's jawline. "You should just date a girl," she said finally. "They wouldn't do shit like that- Well, maybe they would. But _still_, you should just date a girl." She tapped her forehead knowingly. "SO much better."

Rachel hopped off the table, grabbed a nearby shot glass full of clear liquid, and downed it in one go. She tugged on Santana's hand, pulling her towards the dance floor.

"Come dance with me San!" She yelled, causing the Latina to perk up instantly and follow her to the moving crowd of people under the black light.

The two squeezed between dancers and started gyrating to the music, not caring at all about how they looked, what they were going to do next, or who was around them. For two people normally hell-bent on organization and appearances, that was a pretty freaking hard thing to do. And so, naturally, they gave themselves over to the moment and decided not to care about what other people thought.

To anyone else, though, they just looked like two drunk girls grinding on each other.

After a while, Rachel leaned up on her tip-toes and shouted in Santana's ear, "SAN! I hafta pee!" To which the other girl nodded and shouted back, "Go do whatcha need ta do! Ima be riiiiighht heerreeee! _Whooooooooo!"_

15 minutes later, Santana was not actually right there.

She was looking for Rachel, who had not come back.

* * *

"'Scuse me, pardon me, comin' through," Rachel muttered as she pushed through people to get to the bathroom. She turned into the hallway labeled "RESTROOMS" and squinted to see which door led to the Women's. She figured it out after a few minutes of standing there, and pushed open the door on the left.

When she came out 5 minutes later, face not so completely smudged as before, she was stopped in her tracks as if struck by lightning. Pressed against the wall directly across from her was Finn, and some blonde tramp whose lips he happened to be attached to. As Rachel stood there, one of the boy's eyes cracked open and he saw her. Immediately, he had the decency to jump backwards and stare guiltily at his girlfriend.

"Okay, what in the actual _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" Rachel asked, voice shaking with barely contained rage. Finn became indignant at this statement, and his words adopted a defensive tone.

"Well, I don't know, maybe my girlfriend would know, seeing as she's been making _such_ an effort to pay attention to me tonight! Oh, wait, no, that wasn't at _all_ what happened! Why don't you go back to Santana? It seemed like you and her were having enough fun on your own!"

"What are you, _4?_ In case you don't remember, asshole, _you_ were the one that walked away from _me_, so don't even give me that shit about not paying enough attention to you!" Rachel screamed, completely losing her patience. "And you know what; maybe I _will_ go back to Santana, seeing as she would at least have the decency to _not cheat on me at the same party!_"

"Fine, go!" He yelled as the brunette turned and started walking away. "Just don't expect to hear from me again!"

"It would be too soon," She hissed over her shoulder before walking out into the jumble of jostling people again.

Rachel weaved between people, eyes flicking around in a panicked way, as she scanned the room for Santana. She started walking backwards, head spinning and searching for that familiar tan skin and wavy black hair which had to be _somewhere_ here.

"Oh, sorry," she mumbled as she bumped into someone while backing up.

"Rach?" The person asked, causing Rachel to whirl around. That voice... was it-

"San!" She yelled, throwing her arms around the other girl's neck. Santana wrapped her arms around the shorter girl's waist, supporting her as she trembled.

"What happened, _chiquita_? Were the bathrooms really that bad-"

"San…" Rachel interrupted in a suddenly low voice, pulling her head back to stare up at Santana's concerned face.

"Yeah?" The Latina breathed back, unsure of what her friend was going to do.

"San, kiss me," she said, tugging the singer's head towards hers.

* * *

Santana permitted herself to go along with what Rachel was trying to do until the two girls' faces were a few centimeters apart. Then she started resisting the hand buried in her hair, which was pulling her towards her best friend.

"Rachel. _Rachel_, stop."

"What?" She whispered, looking up at the Latina's dark brown, almost black, eyes. "Don't you want me?"

"Rachel," the singer said, extricating herself gently from her friend's grip, "you're drunk, and something obviously just happened. You're not thinking straight. Let's catch a cab home, and you can tell me what this is all about, all right?"

"Mmkay…" The brunette muttered sleepily, suddenly feeling the effects of all the alcohol, screaming, and adrenaline crashing. Her knees started to buckle, and Santana had to catch the girl when she passed out.

The Latina sighed and picked her friend up bridal-style, grateful for the years of cheerleading. She walked outside to the street, getting the club bouncer to hail a cab for the two girls.

5 minutes later, Santana was having a heated argument with her cell phone in the taxi.

"No, Marco, you listen! Without me you have _no performance_, so I don't really give a _shit_ if you didn't want me to leave early! It was an emergency, and it's not like I would get worse publicity by leaving than when I was completely _hammered_ for the three hours before this! Besides, everyone was too drunk to care. Satan has left the building! Nope, nuh-uh, I'm hanging up now, Marco! Goodbye!" She pressed end, slumping back in her seat. The singer pinched the bridge of her nose in a rather unsuccessful attempt to focus her mind.

The cab pulled up beside Rachel and Santana's relatively small house (by LA scale), and Santana tossed a 50 dollar bill at the driver, telling him to keep the change. She maneuvered Rachel out of the car, kicked the door closed behind her, and carried her up to their front door. She grabbed the key from the hidden container beside the door and got the entryway unlocked and open after much struggling.

Somehow, although it was definitely difficult, Santana managed to get her friend into her own room and bed. As she turned to leave, however, a half-asleep Rachel reached out and grabbed the Latina's wrist, preventing her from moving any further.

"Rach, I'm just going into the other room," She said to the girl, trying to get her iron-like grip to release.

"Nooo," she groaned, opening one eye to look up at Santana. "No go."

"Hobbit, leggo, I has to be going," Santana said firmly, still trying to shake off the hand clamped on her wrist.

"No. Stay."

Santana sighed and rolled her eyes, admitting defeat. It's not like she was going to stand here in the wee hours of the morning arguing with Rachel Berry, who was in a drunken stupor.

"All right, scooch over," she instructed, causing Rachel to very gladly roll over to the other side of the bed, allowing Santana room to slide in beside her. "And if you have to puke, go that way," she muttered in Rachel's ear; as they curled into one shape, and arms and legs entangled until it was impossible to distinguish who was who.

* * *

Rachel awoke with a splitting headache and a remarkably clear recollection of the night before. She sat up, knowing it was going to hurt like hell, and tried to fight the waves of nausea that hit her immediately. Slowly, ever so slowly, she swung her legs out of her bed and to the floor, trying not to make any noise against the hardwood surface.

The brunette walked into the kitchen, squinting against the light and trying not to focus on the noises that all sounded like gunshots around her. She slid onto one of the stools surrounding the island counter and stared at the glass of water and two Advil tablets that had been pushed towards her.

"'Morning, Sunshine. Take those two and I'll get you some Gatorade in a minute," Santana said from near the stove, where she seemed to be making pancakes. Rachel tried to nod, but instantly regretted it as it made her head throb even worse. She downed the water with the two tablets, and then sat with her head on top of her arms, face down on the tabletop surface.

"Feeling better than last night?"

"No," Rachel groaned, trying not to wince at the pain the sound caused. Both girls had gotten up repeatedly during what had remained of the night, taking turns holding back each other's hair as they emptied their guts into the grand porcelain receptacle. "How are you so chipper?" She grumbled at the Latina, who chuckled.

"Believe me, I felt as miserable as you look; but that was about an hour ago. Plus, I can hold my alcohol a helluva lot better than you can, Miss Berry."

"Mmph," Rachel responded.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why no one tries to party with Santana Lopez…"

* * *

Two bottles of Gatorade, a huge stack of pancakes (made with egg substitute, of course), and four more tablets of Advil later, the only remnants of Rachel's hangover were an achy body and a small headache. She stood, leaning against a door frame, sipping coffee from a black mug similar to those in Santana's dressing room. She watched the Latina, who was stretched out on the couch in glasses and sweatpants, surfing the internet on her laptop, and Rachel smiled a little at how adorable the other girl was.

"It wasn't just me being drunk, you know."

Santana whirled around, almost dropping her laptop in the process. She placed a hand to her racing heart when she realized who it was, and tried to collect herself again.

"What are you talking about, Berry?"

"I mean, sure," Rachel continued, walking forward towards the couch calmly, "I was upset. I had just found Finn with-"

"You told me," Santana said, watching Rachel settle on the other side of the couch with her legs overlapping her own. "Last night, the second time you got up to puke. You wouldn't go back to sleep until you told me what happened. Now what're you goin' on about not being drunk? 'Cause from where I was standing, you were most definitely drunk-"

"It wasn't just the alcohol talking when I asked you to kiss me."

Everything stopped.

Both girls' hearts, the clock, the whirring of the still-running laptop, any noise whatsoever. Time stood still in that moment, waiting for their fates to tip one way or another.

"So, you're saying…" Santana started carefully.

"I'm saying that, San, I've wanted you for _years_." Rachel shrugged. "It just took until I had a pint of vodka in my system before I would admit it. And I- I get that you probably don't feel anything of the sort, and probably never will; I just didn't want that hanging like a giant question mark between us. And I get it if you don't think we can really be friends anymore, seeing as it would be _incredibly_ awkward, so I suppose I could move out if you want me t-"

Rachel was cut off as a soft set of lips pressed against hers. She sat in shock for a few moments before realizing what was happening and arching her neck up to get closer to the girl kissing her. The two seemed glued together, almost as if they needed each other to stay alive – which they very well may have. After a few seconds, Santana and Rachel separated about a centimeter, panting lightly.

"So was that a "get out"? Because, if so, it was incredibly rude way of saying so-"

The shorter girl was cut off again as Santana placed a chaste kiss on her lips, forcing her to be quiet.

"It was an 'I want to see where this goes,'" the Latina whispered, her breath hitting Rachel's lips in short puffs.

"Well, if this is to go anywhere, I would appreciate not being interrupted by-"

As her lips were reclaimed once again, Rachel gave up fighting; and instead let herself float up to Cloud 9 as Santana nibbled on her bottom lip. Her arms reached up to encircle the Latina's neck, and both girls smiled in their kiss.

**Hope you guys liked it! Please read and review! **


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